You Just Know
by TheAustralianZombie
Summary: The man who grabbed you by the hair and whispered, "Go upstairs. Go upstairs and hide. Be as quiet as possible or they'll find you. Go!" into your ear. The one who you shouldn't be so ready to trust. But you do. 1st DW fic - 10/YOU


_**A/N: This fic is aimed at the younger 10**__**th**__** Doctor fans; written in second person so you can put yourself in the story. I try to keep it as general as possible so most people can comfortably read it as themselves. Enjoy! **_

_**~TheAustralianZombie**_

**_I don't own Doctor Who._**

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You tentatively lift a bare foot and place it on the next step, letting out a silent sigh of relief at the lack of a creak. You're almost at the top. And once you're there, you're safe.

For now, at least.

Below, you can hear distorted moans of the creatures and small crashes and bumps as they try to maneuver their way through a space too small for their massive bodies. It's generally quite quiet, and you know that you have to be even quieter.

Finally, you make it to the top and scurry into your room, closing the door behind you with a small "click". You made it. Locking the door quickly, you quickly tiptoe into your bathroom, grimacing as the floor groans beneath your weight. You should have known that was a weak spot. It always does that.

Before you can close the door, though, there are clumsy thuds from outside your room: someone making their way up the stairs. It's far too light to be one of the heavy monsters downstairs. No, it must be that man… the one who grabbed you by the hair and whispered, "Go upstairs. Go upstairs and hide. Be as quiet as possible or they'll find you. Go!" into your ear. The one who you shouldn't be so ready to trust. After all, he did just appear in the middle of your living room moments after the beasts came crashing in, groaning and reaching for you. You can't really remember too well, what with all the fear clouding your mind, but the closest resemblance they possess to any earth being would have to be the Michelin man. But blue. A dark, nail-polishy kind of blue. How odd.

The door you were so careful to lock suddenly opens, and you gasp, but then you seem him stumble in and sigh in relief. You're safe. (But how do you know?) He closes the door and rushes towards you, into the bathroom, closing the door and shining a blue light on it with some sort of handheld device. Ha, maybe it's some alien-repelling app on the iPhone of the future.

You step back as your brain tries to catch up with what's going on, but he's obviously with the present – maybe a bit into the future – because he's pacing around your small bathroom and muttering to himself as you press yourself back against the sink. Glancing in a mirror, you blush, remembering that these monsters caught you at a bit of a bad time. You're only wearing a fuzzy robe that reaches just above your knees and your damp hair is hanging around you, going a bit frizzy as it dries. Self-consciously, you tug at the cord around your waist, bringing the neckline a little bit closer.

"Right, yes, what do we have…" He's muttering again, and you force yourself to keep up. This is a life or death situation, after all. It couldn't hurt to pay attention to the man you know as of three minutes ago who is now pacing in your bathroom while you watch, wearing nothing but a robe. You think he can save your life. Somehow. Well, either way he obviously knows what's going on. At least, he seems like he does.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, but who are you?" You stutter, and internally slap yourself for making yourself seem like such an idiot in front of him. But why should it matter? Perhaps that's more important.

You don't have time to decide before he replies, "The Doctor," and apparently that's all you get, because he's off pacing again, muttering to himself.

"Oh… kay…" Mental note: you can't sound cool when your life is threatened. Perhaps that would be a good thing to keep in mind for any future encounters.

You sigh and try to think of how to make yourself useful. Perhaps you could heat up a curling iron and stab their eyes out, or gag them with hairspray…

"Right, we're in a bathroom. With a girl. A _girl_!" You blush at that. "Hm… what's in a bathroom… Maybe we could – nah, that's rubbish…" He's off again, and you can't help but marvel at the speed of his mind. You sort of space out, just watching him do his thing, until the noises downstairs escalate and you feel the whole house tremor. You squeal a bit and again curse your wimpy-ness. Why can't you be one of those kick-ass warrior women who save the earth!

Suddenly, he's yelling at himself. Apparently, being quiet doesn't matter anymore. "Ahah! Yes! Got it!" He spins around with a wild look in his eyes, his hair astray. It should probably scare you, but it doesn't. In fact, you find it oddly attractive. "You're a girl, yes? Right. Put on make-up." Your jaw drops a bit. Really? Well, deep down, every girl knows eyeliner can save the world, but this just seems a bit… ridiculous.

"Why?" You query.

"Those monsters down there – they're sexual beings." He pauses to let your coffee-deprived mind take that in. Everything starts to make sense before he finishes, though… "They sniffed your girly pheromones and came running. Now, I need you to distract 'em while I configure the sonic screwdriver to emit a Z-band nova scan which will make their brain tissue vibrate and literally turn their heads to jelly!" He's obviously proud of his idea, and you give him a small smile, even though you're sure this man must be insane, what with his nonexistent technology. "I'd distract 'em myself, but they're all males…"

Before anything can get awkward, you turn to your mirror and get to work. "Yeah, okay, so by distract you mean…" You want to have a complete job description before you go out there – even though there is no chance it'll work. Still, if you're going to die, might as well do it while looking nice. Oh, you can see the news headlines already: "Girl tragically murdered by alien beings." And then a picture of you discovered at the scene of the crime, lying in your room, maybe drained of blood like a vampire victim, eyes glazed over and staring into space, skin pale and lifeless, eyes dark and beautiful with the mascara you got last week. And for good measure, the aliens sucked the excess fat from your body…

"…strut your stuff." You snap out of your daydream and turn to him in shock. You missed the first half of his sentence, but you know he was giving you orders. He's looking at you, eyebrows raised, and you close your gaping mouth and turn back to your eye shadow pallet, going for a dark brown shade and turning to your mirror to apply it as fast as you can.

Looking in the mirror, you can also see him on his knees, going through your cupboards under the sink. He's quickly tossing most of the stuff on the floor. You watch him as you start to dust your cheeks with blush (as well as a little on your neck and shoulders for added effect), and choke back laughter as he sniffs your box of tampons before making a face and tossing them to the side. How strange can this guy get?

You focus back on your makeup.

By the time you need to turn around to grab the eyelash curler, he's found whatever he's needs and is now fiddling with it on the other side of your bathroom. While finishing the rest of your makeup routine, his voice comes out of nowhere. "How old are you?"

The question takes you by unfortunate surprise. You sigh and look directly into your eyes as you apply eyeliner. In a split-second you make a decision and spit out an answer nonchalantly. It's at least three years off, and hard to believe what with you looking so young and innocent at the moment.

"You're lying," he replies sternly, and you hate him for being so damn clever.

"No I'm not," You say painfully with a bit of attitude.

"Yes you are. Believe me, at my age" here, he sighs, and you wonder why. He can't be more than his mid-thirties – you suddenly cringe at the difference. "you know."

You sigh and give in as you grab the mascara. He probably thinks you've dropped the subject as you begin to dip the mascara wand into the canister, but out of nowhere you decide to tell him, and whisper the number under your breath.

At first, it seems like he didn't hear, and you almost smile.

Almost.

"You can't do this!" He suddenly cries out, and you can't help but notice the sounds below get louder.

"Shh!" Suddenly, you take the initiative. "Well, we don't have much choice, now, do we?" You scold him and see him recoil a bit. A bit angry now, you analyze your lip color options, knowing that the monsters are getting closer.

"God! Have you even had your first kiss yet!"

You heave a great sigh as he asks this, and do the sort of things you see in movies. You stalk up to him, grab his neck, pull him down to your height, and snog him.

You revel in it for a moment, just enjoying it, trying to absorb how every skin cell feels and where every part of you and he are. Then, you turn away and go back to your sink, wiping your mouth and blushing, shocked at yourself. "Yes," you reply, and grab a tissue so you can wipe off the gunk that has accumulated on a dark red lip gloss. Spinning around, avoiding his gaze, you apply the color to your lips, noticing how it compliments your skin nicely. You'll have to use it again sometime…

Oh, right. You're about to die.

Finishing, you look at your hair and grit your teeth. It's frizzed. Majorly. Must be the humidity… You run your fingers through it, finding a perfect curl and tugging it forward so it's the only bit of hair hanging down your chest. Smiling to yourself at your handiwork, you loosen the neckline of your robe a bit so more skin is showing. You feel a surge of power, and smile. Finally, that kick-ass warrior woman is awakening!

Turning to the Doctor – whatever his name is! – you look straight into his eyes, which is impressive, and you begin to wonder if abnormal courage is a symptom most people exhibit before they meet certain death. "Three… Two…" he realizes what you're doing (and that you're serious) and takes up a stance that someone about to burst into a sprint would. "One… GO!"

You open the door, and he's out first, straight into the waiting arms of roughly for of the blue marshmallow beasts. They groan and reach for him, but he's skinny and fast and manages to escape the first three, but the one in the back grabs him around the waste.

He's struggling to free himself, and you can tell that the thing is constricting his breathing. Calling up all your sexiness, you speak: "Um… you! Hey! Look over here!" You wiggle your hips a bit and blush at how ridiculous you feel.

"Sound… girly!" he gasps.

Rolling your eyes and fully realizing how horrible a way to die this is, you give up and bring up all your femininity. "Over here!" You smirk like you see the hot girls do in James Bond movies. Beckoning with a single finger, you stick a hip out and bend one leg. "Hi there," You raise your eyebrows. The creatures stop and look at you. Groaning, they stumble forward, releasing the Doctor, who grabs a breath and takes one last look at you before sprinting out the door and what you can only assume as falling down the stairs.

"Right," you whisper to yourself, analyzing the oncoming enemy. You give them all a once-over as they get closer, dodging hands as the reach to grab you and shrieking as one of their fingers brushes your leg. It groans in delight. They're a glowing sort of blue, and look like they could use a trip to the gym. Their arms are about knee-length, making them look like distorted gorillas from Neptune. Looking closer, you realize what you thought was a third leg is actually their…

Oh, God! You _really_ need to get out of here!

Swearing under your breath, you move backwards a little bit, knowing that there's practically no way they can fit into your bathroom. Praying that the Doctor might actually know what he's doing, you continue the charade.

All seems at least a bit hopeful, until you hear the sound of the microwave in the kitchen after a few minutes of alien-seduction. You groan, calling at the top of your lungs: "Doctor! Now is not the time for food! We're going to-" you stop as the microwave suddenly stops and the aliens grip their heads in the same moment. You smile and almost begin to laugh as they give out tormented cries and crash onto the floor, knocking things over in their wake.

You watch in awe, delight, and horror as they actually begin to _shrink _on your floor. Within a minute or so, they're completely gone, and you're smiling there like an idiot, thanking your lucky stars that the Doctor isn't there to see you.

Oh, wait.

You look up and see him leaning against your doorframe, smirking with raised eyebrows, obviously quite pleased with himself.

You roll your eyes at him, still smiling, but at this point it doesn't really matter. You're alive. And that's a good thing. He approaches and wraps his arms around you in a tender hug, and it's odd how you're already so close with this man you met all of twelve minutes ago.

You hug him back for a minute, Then he releases you and smiles. "You did a good job,"

You roll your eyes yet again and flirtatiously reply, "Well, what were you expecting?"

You both laugh and then you look to the window. It's raining, which is an unforeseen delight. You gaze out the window for a bit, then notice a tall blue box sitting in your backyard. It's roughly the same color as the beasts you just tried to seduce, and your first thought is that it must be their ship. Although "Police Public Call Box" is a really unflattering title.

"Nah, that's mine." Come's the Doctor's voice, and you realize he's standing beside you. "That's the TARDIS." A tender note creeps into his voice, and he seems to be gazing almost lovingly at the blue box. A moment passes, then he turns to you. "Get dressed," he says, and then he leaves the room.

"Alright," you say to yourself, and you go to your closet. Putting on underwear under your robe, you look through what's there. Most of your clothes are in the wash, so you go downstairs, noticing the considerable increase of your heartbeat and being thoroughly embarrassed by it.

However the Doctor is not there, and at first you think he's flown away in his phone booth. But soon you spot him standing outside with his hands in his pockets, back to the window. He's wearing a trench coat and a blue suit, which is strange in itself. And now he's just watching. Just watching _everything_ and yet nothing…

Reminding yourself that you should put on clothes, you wander to the laundry room and dig through the dryer, pulling out your jeans and yanking them on, cursing the fact that denim shrinks. Pulling on a comfy tank top and one of your favorite tops, you grab a jacket and pull it on before sitting on the couch to put on your converses.

"Nice shoes," the Doctor says, and you look up to see him smirking down at you.

Realizing he has converses too, you laugh. "You too," and then hop up. He follows you outside into the rain and you squeal with delight as the droplets land on your face – you've made enough of a fool of yourself already. He laughs with you and spins around with his arms out, his coat flapping around him, and you crack up at the image of a grown man twirling in the rain.

He catches you looking towards his "TARDIS" and asks you a question.

"Do you want to go for a ride?"

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_**A/N: This is my first Doctor Who fanfic, as well as my first story in second person. Considerably harder than I thought it would be! I know there is a lot that can be done to improve it, and so feedback is very much appreciated - please just don't give me negative reviews without giving advice on how to fix it! Depending on how many reviews I get, I may or may not continue it. **_

_**Thank you very much,**_

_**~TheAustralianZombie**_

**_P.S._**

**_I now realize that writing in second person is against the rules, and I'm currently going through the process of transposing it. Thank you very much to Hito me Bore for informing me. :)_**


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